The Seven Swords

by Nils Johnson-Shelton

  Dred, worried that his mother could see his nascent thoughts about freeing Qwon, tried once more to strike his mind clean. “What ideas, Mum?”

  “‘What ideas, Mum?’” Morgaine mimicked, sounding exactly like Dred, which was super creepy. “Ideas. I don’t know, you’re practically a teenager. You’ve all sorts of ideas, I’m sure.”

  “Mum, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dred said pretty unconvincingly.

  “Fine. Be a dear then and take your empty head to the basement and flip all the breakers. Start with the main feeds and work your way down.”

  “I know, I know,” Dred said, already turning around. “Just like last time.”

  Morgaine spun back to her mirror. “Yes, pet, just like last time.”

  Dred left and wound his way around the Castel to the modern glass structure in the middle of the compound. It was new, but the sublevels below it were some of Castel Deorc Wæters’ oldest.

  He descended several flights of stone stairs and finally came to a low hall a hundred feet underground. The breaker room was housed in what used to be a formal dungeon, replete with ancient iron maidens and racks to prove it.

  Dred walked down the hall with his flashlight, counting the doors. When he reached the seventh one, he froze.

  He’d stepped into an unexpected scentlock, and at the last second Smash screamed, “Fairy!”

  But this was unlike any scentlock Dred had ever experienced. It wasn’t flowers, or sea air, or pine needles, or dew. It wasn’t anything. It was like the aromatic equivalent of total silence.

  Only Dred’s eyes would move. He frantically glanced around the hall, but saw nothing.

  And then Smash squealed in agony, and Dred felt him tumble off his shoulder and land with a muted thump at his feet. The invisible fairy’s hot breath fell on the nape of Dred’s neck. He was grabbed by the shoulders and forced around to face the right-hand wall.

  The fairy drew a word on Dred’s back with its finger, but Dred didn’t catch it. Dred made a sound like “again” in the bottom of his throat.

  The unseen fairy wrote the word out two more times before Dred understood: There.

  What did it mean? The only thing in front of him was one of the many recesses that were used to hold lamps and torches in the old days.

  Dred sensed the fairy circle around him. Then a stone in the nearest recess moved, and a low grating sound filled the hall as the wall in front of him swung inward.

  A secret passage.

  The fairy slid behind Dred again and traced another word on his back: Look.

  Two beats later, the fairy was gone, and the scentlock was lifted.

  Dred wheeled and drew his sword in a single motion. He swiped furiously at the air in every direction, but his blade met no resistance. Whoever it was that had stopped him—and killed his pet—was gone.

  Dred sighed, sheathed his weapon, and bent to pick up Smash’s body. A little yellow card lay on the creature. He picked up both, slipped Smash into his shirt, and looked at the card. It said, in a full, flowing script:

  Sorry. It would have told her.

  Dred stared at the note, and he knew it was true. He’d suspected as much, even though he had always hoped that Smash was his friend in spite of his allegiance to Morgaine.

  Dred was about to crumple the note when the corner farthest from his fingers spontaneously caught fire. He dropped the card and watched it burn. After a few seconds, nothing was left but some black curls of ash.

  He let these go and stamped them into the floor. Then he turned to the secret doorway and stepped through.

  What was this place? He would have sworn that he knew every nook and cranny of Castel Deorc Wæters, but he’d never been here before. His heart raced as he walked through a long tunnel supported by wooden beams. It sloped downward, and the soft surfaces of the passageway snuffed out all sound.

  The tunnel terminated after several hundred feet at a large, perfectly round door. In the middle of the door was a brass ring the size of a dinner plate.

  Dred considered knocking, thought better of it, and placed a hand flat on the wood. He took a deep breath and pushed. The door swung inward a few inches. He quietly drew his sword, and then nudged the door all the way open.

  Dred stepped into a large room with high ceilings cut out of the bedrock. He shone his light around. The room appeared to be a laboratory of some kind. It had endless rows of metal gurneys and glass cabinets full of all kinds of instruments and vials and packages. But it also had wooden shelves stuffed with musty, dusty books and scrolls. On the wall to his left were hundreds of vials containing dried herbs and multicolored powders. Next to this was a cabinet of various wands, staffs, and bracers. An old black velvet cloak he vaguely remembered Morgaine wearing long ago hung on a peg.

  He walked deeper in. After the gurneys came row upon row upon row of tall glass cylinders filled with a slightly cloudy liquid. And suspended in these giant bottles were . . . things.

  Some were the size of a fist, others were so big that they pushed fleshily against the glass. Some had arms, some didn’t. Some had heads, some didn’t. Some had eyes, some had five eyes, some had eye sockets but no eyes. Some had webbed fingers and toes, some had no fingers or toes. Some had dark, purply skin; others had white skin; others still had no skin at all.

  Some looked half human. Most looked like monsters.

  Dazed, Dred walked on. The farther down the line of cylinders he went, the more fully formed the things became. They began to have hair and features. Some were very young, others looked like ten-year-old children.

  They all appeared to be boys.

  The next several rows contained older children—teenagers—and even a few men. Something was horribly wrong with each of these specimens. Ears on their necks, no noses, feet for hands, skeletons on the outside.

  The last row, however, contained boys that looked completely normal. They were about Dred’s height and, despite being dead, looked healthy.

  He stepped right up to the last one and shone his light on its face. Dred stopped breathing when he realized . . . that he was looking at himself!

  The boy in the cylinder suddenly opened his eyes and looked directly at the light.

  Dred stumbled backward and dropped his flashlight and sword, which made an awful racket as they fell to the ground.

  His heart pounded out of his chest as he struggled to regain his breath. Dred counted to ten, and then back to one, and then leaned over and picked up the light, sweeping its beam over the boy-thing again. Other than the eyes, which were closed now, it hadn’t moved at all. Dred took a deep breath and let the light rest on his double’s face again.

  And again, after a few seconds, the eyes opened and turned in their sockets to look directly into the light.

  Dred forced himself to take full breaths. He moved the light away, waited, then shone it on the creature once more. Again it opened its eyes after a pause.

  It wasn’t alive. It was just light sensitive. The eye thing was a nervous reaction or something.

  Satisfied that he wasn’t going to be attacked by a bunch of zombie doppelgangers, Dred gathered himself. Turning from the hundreds of glass tubes, he continued to the back of the room.

  There he found two final metal gurneys, an array of medical and magical instruments—tubes, beakers, potion mixers, burners, crystals—and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf with a little altar built into it.

  And in front of this were two baby’s cribs.

  Dred’s stomach churned as he stepped up to them and looked inside. The cribs were empty.

  Of babies, at any rate.

  But what he found instead was nearly as disturbing. Each crib had a blanket, and on each blanket was a coat of arms. One was blue with three golden crowns: Arthur’s. The other was purple and white with a golden, double-headed eagle.

  His.

  Dred’s knees trembled and he had to put his sword’s tip on the ground to use as a crutch. His mind raced.

  Wh
at had he discovered?

  Correction: What had he been shown? By a fairy, of all creatures!

  Dred took a deep breath. There was one more thing he had to look at. On weak legs, he made his way to the altar set in the bookshelf. Before it was a podium supporting a gigantic, ancient, leather-bound tome with brass fittings. He flipped through it. It was full of drawings and notes and formulas.

  He glanced at the altar and found two bell-shaped glass containers, each etched with silver lettering. One said “Uther” and contained a small bone fragment of some kind. The other, which contained a lock of wavy reddish hair, said “Igraine.”

  Dred knew these names. Everyone who knew anything about Arthur knew these names. They were the first Arthur’s parents.

  He looked back to the book and slammed it shut. The noise bounced around the room. He ran his fingers over the metal plate riveted to the book’s cover. He leaned in and read:

  THE ARTHUR PROJECT

  He reopened the book and frantically turned to the final entries, scanning the pages for a date.

  Finally he found it:

  August 23. Arthur trial attempt 1,298. As with previous 147 attempts, twins, though for the first time they are identical. Both live.

  The second I shall call Mordred.

  At that very moment Morgaine’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “Where are you, boy?”

  Dred scrambled to his feet and rushed back, telling Morgaine over the walkie that he was nearly done. He closed the secret door, and stopped in the breaker room to throw the power switches. Thankfully, the power hummed back on. Then he made his way up to Morgaine’s room, his mind racing.

  A twin! That was why Morgaine didn’t want he and Artie to see each other! Because they had the same face! That was why Morgaine had enchanted his helmet and given him a spy as a pet! What else had she done? What other secrets lay in that grotesque lab under Castel Deorc Wæters?

  For the first time in his life, Dred truly and irrevocably hated his mother.

  He finally reached her room. He pushed the door open and walked in. Morgaine stood at a counter, tapping her fingers on its surface. “What took you so long, pet?” The word pet sent chills down Dred’s spine.

  She looked younger. Not all the way younger, but still.

  “Nothing, Mum. I just had to give it a couple tries is all.” The lie was well delivered, and Dred was pleased.

  Morgaine studied him. Her fingers made a rhythmic di-di-di-dit on the countertop. “You know, Dred, this whole blackout thing has me in a state. An absolute state!”

  “Of course, Mum,” Dred said. “It’s a drag.”

  “Completely. The worst thing isn’t the blackouts themselves, but the fact that Merlin is behind them. Merlin! Which also means that this new Arthur is involved!”

  “I’m sorry again that I couldn’t—”

  “Tut-tut. Don’t worry,” Morgaine said cheerfully. “Such is war. Win some, lose some.”

  “Of course.”

  “But because Merlin has been able to get to us, I’ve been racking my brain for ways to get back at him. I’ve come up with a couple new ideas. One involves one of our esteemed prisoners.”

  Dred’s stomach knotted. “You’ve finally decided to deal with the fairy?” he asked.

  Morgaine laughed. “The fairy? Of course not the fairy, muddleheaded child. She can at least be used to blackmail the lord of Leagon. The other one, I’ve realized, is less useful. The strange-looking girl.”

  “Who—Qwon?” Dred said, his voice cracking slightly.

  “Yes, Qwon. You don’t think we should kill her?”

  “I-I don’t see why we would,” he stammered.

  Morgaine looked disappointed. “This Artie cares for her, right?”

  “It seemed so, yes.” We are talking about my brother, Dred realized for the first time.

  “Then let’s give him a bit of a pause. Let’s scare him.”

  Dred fought back a growing fear. “But won’t it make him angrier?”

  “Of course it will,” Morgaine said, turning from the countertop. “Angry adversaries are the best. They’re predictable. And much easier to manipulate. We shall deliver her head to him, and once we do, you’ll see how quickly he’ll come.”

  Dred knew his mother was right, and it made him sick.

  But what made him sicker was what he’d seen in the basement. What he’d learned about himself—and his brother.

  Dred made a little bow and said coolly, “As you wish. When?”

  “Three days from now, midmorning. I want her to suffer a bit more.”

  “Very well. I’ll order an executioner from the barracks.” Dred turned and headed for the door.

  As he pulled it open, his mother said, “That won’t be necessary, snookums. The Castel is thin on staff as it is. You can do it. And no need for one of those ridiculous axes. Just use your own blade. Just use the Peace Sword.”

  21 - IN WHICH CLIVE BREAKS KYNDER’S HAND

  Kynder couldn’t work. His mind was in overdrive because he couldn’t stop thinking about the events of the last thirty-six hours.

  First: Even with the help of Clive, his exemplary if odd research assistant, Kynder could not find one jot of information about the person who wielded the Peace Sword.

  Second: He’d spoken with Artie very early that morning and learned that Bedevere had nearly died on the Orgulus quest. It didn’t take much for Kynder to imagine one of his own kids losing a limb—or worse—and it made him sick.

  Third: After his one-on-one with Artie, they conferenced with Merlin, who was obsessing over the fact that they had only six days left, and insisted that Artie and his knights leave immediately to retrieve Kusanagi. But Artie wanted to wait for Bors’s report. He said they were tired of hunting down swords for Merlin, and that he wanted to start focusing on rescuing Qwon. The call ended with Artie saying, “You know what, Merlin? Why don’t you go and get Kusanagi, and we’ll take it easy and wait for you for a change.”

  Merlin didn’t like that. He disconnected in protest and no one had heard from him all morning. Thumb apologized for Merlin, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy Artie—or Kynder, for that matter.

  Fourth: Bors’s report, which had arrived only a little after the Merlin tiff, basically sucked:

  Witch very unpredictable—Q to be executed day after tomorrow. Wants Mordred to do it. Unsure if he will comply.

  Advise for escape tomorrow, predawn. Have found good route out of Castel. Require big blackout for cover.

  Will not be able to acquire Excal. or Anguish prior to escape. It is impossible. Morgaine sleeps with them. After escape Morgaine will give chase and try to take Artie, retrieve the pommel and the rest of the Seven Swords, and kill the knights. Advise that we meet at predetermined rendezvous, allow Morgaine to follow, and quickly gate back to empty Castel to retrieve weapons. Then, to Avalon.

  TTYS,

  B. le F.

  PS: Map of Castel encls’d.

  PPS: Location of seaside rendezvous encls’d.

  PPPS: Mord. has Peace Sword! Need to confront him directly.

  Fifth: Mordred had the Peace Sword!

  At least that took care of Kynder’s first problem.

  But, thanks to Clive, Kynder also knew that Mordred was another one of Morgaine’s genetically engineered experiments. Something about this didn’t add up for Kynder. He didn’t know why exactly, but Kynder Kingfisher couldn’t shake the feeling that Mordred was not their enemy but their friend.

  Kynder checked his watch. It was ten in the morning. The escape from Castel Deorc Wæters was to occur in less than twenty-four hours. If the escape failed, then Qwon Onakea, a girl he now felt achingly responsible for, would be killed in forty-eight hours.

  Kynder decided to talk with Artie again. He couldn’t reveal Merlin’s secret, but he could reveal his Mordred theory. Kynder grabbed his iPad, pinged Artie, and made his way to the reading room.

  After a minute Artie accepted and, just like that, they
were face-to-face.

  “Hey, Arthur,” Kynder said.

  “Hey, Kynder.”

  Kynder smiled. “Your sister around?”

  “Course she is,” Artie said, and wearily called for Kay. Artie looked so worn down. No kid should have to bear what Artie did.

  A peppier-looking Kay popped up next to her brother and said, “Hey, Kynder.”

  Kynder paused.

  “Whassup, Kynder?” Artie asked.

  “Ummmm. I’ve got this hunch. It’s kind of a whopper.”

  “What is it?” Kay asked.

  “I think . . . or rather I don’t think . . . I don’t think Mordred is your enemy.”

  “What?” Artie exclaimed as Kay’s jaw dropped.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s the key to getting the rest of the Seven Swords. It’s just this overwhelming gut feeling I have.”

  “I don’t understand,” Artie said, overcome with confusion and a tiny bit of anger.

  Kynder clutched his chest, not realizing that he was also clutching his shirt pocket, which held the stone Merlin had given him. “I can’t tell you, Son,” he said.

  “Give it a try, Pop?” Kay encouraged. She could see her dad struggling and didn’t like it.

  Kynder swallowed hard. He felt sick. What was wrong with him? “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m pretty sure, though, that the next time you see Mordred, something will tell you I’m right.”

  Artie was shocked. He didn’t know what to say. He hated Mordred even more than Morgaine. The fact that he was the one with the Peace Sword made it even worse. “I . . . I don’t know what to—”

  But then they were cut off.

  Kynder tried desperately to reconnect with his kids, but it was no use. The network had shut down. He hoped—even expected—Artie and Kay to lunae lumen over to the Library to finish their conversation, but they didn’t come.

  Kynder collapsed onto the table. He felt awful. After a few moments Clive appeared next to him holding two cups of coffee. He put one down next to Kynder. “You told them about Mordred, eh?”